


Let's Keep Going in This Same Direction (Keep Moving Forwards)

by EclipseWing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brainwashing, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Memory Loss, Post Season 4 (assuming nobody dies or is evil), Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott McCall is a Good Alpha, Season 4 Pack, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Winter Soldier based idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseWing/pseuds/EclipseWing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles is kidnapped and presumed killed by hunters.</p><p>They're not expecting the werewolf with blue eyes, two years later.</p><p>Winter Solder fusion AU post 3b.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crept In (Like a Thief In The Night)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this:  
> http://tofixtheshadows.tumblr.com/post/83689599797
> 
> http://shadow-of-the-eclipse.tumblr.com/post/87121728438/kind-of-a-winter-solider-au-inspired-by-this

There are hunters.

That's how it starts.

There are hunters and they are only wolves.

"They have _wolfsbane bullets_ ," Stiles emphasis with wild hand gestures, "That's one bullet that will kill a wolf almost instantly."

"We can burn the poison out," Derek says gruffly. "It won't be a problem."

Stiles hits his hand on the table, "That's if you're not _dead_! These things will kill you almost instantly. It's beyond toxic to a human, and to you guys? It's like werewolf lethal injection. Don't you understand? You won't have time to find a bullet and a lighter!"

"Enough," Scott interrupts before Derek can retort something back. "We go in cautiously. With care. No claws until later," he directs to Liam and Malia, both of whom nod obediently.

 

There are hunters.

That's how it starts.

There are hunters and they are only wolves.

Except the ones that aren't.

It's chaos. There's no other word for it and Stiles ducks close to the ground as possible, hands over his head and jumping at every shot that rings out. His baseball bat is clenched in one hand, the metal bloody and sweaty to grip.

Someone darts across and it may be Scott, or it may be Liam. They let out a snarl and rip a gun from one man’s hands, chucking it away.  They lash out with a punch to the face, and the hunter topples.

Stiles tries to keep low to the ground, because he won't heal if he gets hit. He slips behind a tree, and his body pumping with adrenalin, he darts out again.

One hunter goes down with a broken leg, and another is brained into unconsciousness. Stiles kicks him aside and skids through the trees, looking around. To the right Malia and Liam slash and snarl. To the left Lydia has a flamethrower and Kira's katana flashes.

And in front of him is Scott, and as another hunter gets knocked down by Stiles' bat he sees it.

There is a flash of glass through the trees as someone with a sniper rifle takes aim. It takes two seconds for Stiles to see what they're aiming at. Another one and a half to make a decision, and then five to cross the distance it takes to put himself between the sniper and Scott.

And he turns, mouth open, telling Scott "Get down!" and that's when all the air rushes out of his lungs. It feels like he's been punched in the chest.

He chokes, and staggers forwards. Scott's expression crumples and his claws rip carelessly into a nearby woman, her knife falling to the ground. Stiles feels his limbs go numb. He feels himself falling and feels Scott catch him.

Scott's arms are wrapped around him, and he pulls away slightly, examining one of his hands. It's sticky with blood.

"Scott," Stiles, frowns, "You're hit. You need to get the bullet out…"

Scott's eyes are frantic. Wide. "Stiles, stay with me. Stiles."

And that's when Stiles realises it isn't Scott's blood.

It's his.

 

There are hunters.

That's just the beginning.

There are hunters and wolfsbane bullets and yet the only member of the pack they manage to hit is the one without any supernatural ability.

Stiles dies choking on his own blood in Scott's arms, a bullet wound torn through his back and straight out the other side again. In desperation, and deep rooted terror at losing his best friend, Scott grabs Stiles' wrist and bites down, tasting the blood of his best friend. The blood of his brother.

The heart thumps wetly, trying force blood around the body, but it's sluggish and slow.

Footsteps thunder past and Malia and Kira pause. Malia lets out a whine and Kira gasps. "Stiles!"

"We have to go!" Liam calls, "There are too many!"

"Scott, he's right!" Derek shouts, appearing from nowhere. He freezes because the heartbeat shudders and stutters and then it stops completely and Scott is too late.

He lowers Stiles' body to the ground, and that's when Lydia appears, repeating the warning. "They've got back-up! Scott… what…?" and all the breath leaves her body at once. "No," she whispers.

And Scott knows he needs to go. He needs to leave. He needs to protect his pack…

"Stiles…" Malia whimpers, "Oh my god…" her eyes flash and her control is waning.

"Leave him," Derek whispers, "Scott, we can come back. We have to get out…"

Gun fire shatters the air overhead and they all duck. Malia whines and then looks like she's about to bolt. Something makes her pause, grab Lydia, and then the pair stagger away, ducking and weaving. Liam looks around and then follows.

"Scott," Kira begs, but it's Derek who grabs him, forcing him up and Scott's fingers clutch at thin air, and he sees Stiles' still form once more, lying there, almost peaceful. A pool of blood spreads from him and clings to his lips and his heart is still.

Then Scott's turning and running and there are more hunters (that's just how it starts) and they're outnumbered and Stiles is dead and nobody else is going to die.

Not today.

They leave the body. Nobody therefore is around to hear the soft, wet thump as the heart stutters back into life. Not at least until a hunter bends over and checks the pulse.

"This one's still alive! He's freshly bitten."

A heart beats. Thump-a-thump-a-thump but what it beats for is long gone.

 

When they come back later, there is nothing there but the sharp tang of Stiles' blood, hanging in the air.

 

She watches the body between iron bars. It’s so still lying there.

She glances at the moon outside. It will be full soon, and then it'll be a wild thing, snarling and raving.

"Still examining your pet?" he asks from behind her.

"I think," she shares her thoughts, "It can be useful."

"How?" he asks her, "Blue-eyed betas like that ought to be put down."

She finally turns away from the animal in its cage, looking at the other hunter. She waggles one finger, "This one, it's different."

"How?" he seems unimpressed.

"ADHD," she says, smugly.

He is confused. He should be. "How is that different?"

"The bite cures illnesses, right?" she asks, pacing forwards, "And ADHD is an illness, but for it, the bite didn't cure it. Do you know why?" she answers her own question, "Senses. It can hear and smell and see everything for a mile radius, at the very least. It's like being surrounded by televisions and watching every show on them, unable to tune it out." she pulls a face, "So I don't know exactly what it's like, I don't have ADHD, but I'll tell you one thing. The reason the lycanthropy didn't get rid of it? It's an advantage on the hunt."

He looks scornful, "Do you really want this monster hunting us?" he sneers.

She smirks, "Not us," she says, and the smugness creeps into her tone, "Other werewolves."

 

He watches the monster on the full moon.

She's mad, if she thinks she can turn a rabid wolf into a trained attack dog. The wolf alternates between howling and clawing at the walls, and curling up, hands over its ears and bleeding from the scratches it tears into itself. The bite cursed this one. Every sense, every sound is magnified, and since its medication no longer works, it can't tune anything out.

His shoe squeaks, or makes some noise or other, because the wolf's head snaps up. Its eyes flare up blue, and he wonders idly who this one killed. The others aren't impressed by what she wants to do, but then they're still licking their wounds from that pack of mongrels where they picked this one up from.

There would be a certain irony, he thinks, in using a werewolf to kill werewolves. Even more if in a year or two they set it on its own pack.

She might be onto something here.

 

He screams. He's been screaming a lot lately.

The female whispers in his ear, and it's a margin of comfort in this hell hole. Then she leans away and turns a dial and he can't think of anything for a while because the pain is too much.

When he can finally think, the male is leaning over him, a vial of yellow. "Wolfsbane is usually blue," he says, "But this kind? This kind is specially designed for you. Not too strong, wouldn't want to kill you. Perfect, wouldn't you say, dog?"

"'m not," he slurs, lifting his head weakly. He's not a dog, he wants to protest, he's a person. He's a human. He's Sti-

"Yes," the male says, "You are. You're a dog. You're a killer. And you'll do what you're told." and the needle is stabbed down into his veins.

It hurts. It always does. He struggles at first, wrists rubbing raw and healing as he thrashes. He calls out, but he no longer knows who he's calling for. Names and people flash and fade because they're not here. There's nobody here except them. Nobody is going to save him.

He's not important.

He had (has) a name. He knew he did (knows he does) but as his head lolls back and the only voices he hears are the female's and male's he wonders how important it really was to start with.


	2. Shake Up (Everything Around)

"There is a feral wolf coming here." Peter warns them.

It's been two years since Stiles died. They've finished high school. They've been studying at college and university and yet still they end up back where they started, circling the town like fireflies.

They're never going to leave, Scott knows. Not completely. This is their territory now, in blood and sweat and tears.

They've lost too much to give it up now.

Lydia shrugs. "So we deal with it, just like we dealt with the dragons and yetis and…"

"And this one isn't a mindless monster. Think trained assassin."

"And he's here to what? Kill us?" Scott frowns. Assassins aren't a new thing, but a werewolf assassin is admittedly not something they've encountered before.

"The whole pack." Peter leans back, "He works for hunters."

Liam frowns, confused. "What werewolf _willingly_ works for hunters?"

"One who's been tortured." Peter sounds almost joyful as he explains, "They ripped him apart until he was feral and then they built him back up the way they wanted him. Now he's nothing more than a trained attack dog."

Malia curls her lip at her father, "How do you know so much about him?"

Peter's grin is wolfish, "I found one of the hunters who was scoping out the area. Safe to say he won't be a bother anymore."

Scott shivers. Peter's methods are never agreeable with him, but they produce useful information at the very least. "When?" he asks.

"I don't know. Soon though. So we better be ready."

 

Scott's heard about this feral wolf. One of the packs in Sacramento was torn to shreds by this omega. For ever wolf he kills his strength grows, but he's still an omega. He's still packless. Scott just thinks it's a relief, because this wolf has ripped apart alphas, and the last thing he needs is a rogue alpha assassin coming here.

He's in the vet clinic when it happens. He still works there, but this time he's the vet rather than the assistant. Or at least, he's in training to be a vet. He's just seen to a patient when his phone rings.

He doesn't recognise the number.

That's his first warning.

He answers anyway, because Liam has taken to stealing people's phone because Malia keeps losing hers and so her number changes every six months or so. "Hello?"

"Nice little pack you've got here," and the words are stilted, an echo to them, but familiar. There's something about the way they're said, the calmness or maybe the slightly static of the phone that distorts it just enough so that Scott can't place it, that he's left frowning and asking.

"Who is this?"

"Your pack are so loyal it's almost cute. I thought alphas were meant to be more independent but you? You just wrap yourself around them like it will keep them safe." the voice is sneering, almost disgusted. They sound as if they don't understand Scott's pack at all, which is fine because his pack are his own business, but he also sounds like he doesn't understand _pack_ at all, and that's heart breaking.

"You're the feral," Scott realises, "Are you here to kill us? I won't let you hurt them!" he challenges, growling slightly in his throat.

The other werewolf laughs, and even over the phone it's a hysterical, broken thing. "You want to protect your pack so badly, Alpha? Then come and find me. 84 Rosewood Avenue." the voice reels off and then hangs up. Scott's lunging for paper, trying to write it down from memory while simultaneously dialling Lydia.

She picks up almost straight away, "Scott?"

"He's here," Scott says, "The feral."

"What are you doing?" she asks, "You sound like you're about to do something stupid."

"He asked me to meet him, in the warehouse district. I'm going."

He hears the sigh, "It's a trap, Scott. They could be hunters, and he's going to kill you. He'll rip you into little pieces and once you're dead, he'll come after us."

"That's why I'm meeting him. If I can stop him before he even gets to you…"

"What's the address?" Lydia asks.

Scott shakes his head, then remembering he's on the phone speaks, "No. No, I'm going alone."

"No!" Lydia protests, "Scott, I'm calling Kira and Malia, we'll be there, just don't… Scott, what is it?" and there's an odd tone to her voice, "There's something else, isn't there? I can feel it."

"He just…" Scott pauses. "He sounded…"

"Like what?" Lydia asks, and that's when Scott realises. "Like what, Scott?"

"I've… I've got to go," he says hurriedly.

"If you go there by yourself McCall so help me…" he hangs up, because he has to go, he has to see (he has to know).

 

Rosewood Avenue is a long line of dark warehouses, with the occasional large transport lorry parked outside. Scott parks his bike outside 83 and then walks along the grass verge to 84. The door is open, the lock broken. For a moment he stands there, fingers tracing over the claw marks as he breathes in the other wolf's scent.

His scent is bitter, and it tastes like blood on his tongue. He pushes open the door and the warehouse inside is dark. He looks about for a light switch but can't see one.

With a sigh, he lets his eyes flash red. He scans the room. It's filled with large shelves, each piled with boxes. The ceiling is high, and his footsteps echo as he moves forwards, calling out. "I'm here! Show yourself!"

His ears pick up another heart beat shifting into view, but he can't yet see the feral. The steady echo of footsteps starts up, and the other wolf chose this warehouse well, because Scott can't place where he is at all.

"Stop hiding in the dark!" Scott snarls out, picking an aisle between shelves and walking down it. His head is turned towards the noise, and it feels almost like the other wolf is walking parallel with him.

"It's nice of you to show up," the other wolf calls, and Scott stops, listening to the footsteps, "Without your pack as well, _wow_ , you must really love them."

The voice is mocking, but it's familiar. It's like a physical blow and Scott can't breathe for a moment. The other wolf has stopped moving too, and the sound of their hearts beating is the only noise present.

"Why are you doing this?" Scott asks, and he starts walking again towards the end of the aisle. Reaching it he turns, pacing along the end.

The other wolf laughs and he catches sight of a dark shadow twist around a corner ahead of him and vanish. "They said you'd be harder. That you'd be prepared. So I separated you. And you came running and I didn't even need to find _bait_. And now… well… what's an alpha without his pack?"

"You work for hunters," Scott paces back down another aisle, "Do you sit and stay when they tell you to?"

That elicits a snarl from the other wolf. It's angry and bitter.

"Why do you do this?" Scott presses, "Hunt down your own kind?"

"Why are you so curious, Alpha?" the other wolf is stalking him, he realises, and he stops, breath catching. It's dim and shadowed and he can see nothing more than the warehouse around him, stacks of boxes and shelves and twisted corners.

"Just tell me why," Scott asks.

There are footsteps and he whirls around, but there is nothing there, "It's what I was made for," comes the reply. It's not what Scott was hoping for, and frustration wells inside him. He needs to see the other wolf. He needs to know for sure.

"Show yourself!" Scott challenges, "Stop hiding in the dark you cow---" a flash of movement from one of the shelves and suddenly there is a weight on top of him, snarling and claws out.

He rolls, kicking back and slashes across. The other wolf snaps his teeth in annoyance and punches him in the face.

They break apart, Scott spitting blood and the other wolf grinning at him, whiskey brown eyes sparkling with amusement and an already healing gash across his face over his cheek and across one eye. Fangs are bared into a wolfish smirk and the brown eyes light up blue as their gazes meet, and while the other's heart is thudding bip bip bip bip hard and fast, Scott could have sworn his own heart stopped.

"Stiles?" he asks.

And Stiles blinks back, frowning as his grin twists into a smirk, "What the hell is a stiles?" he snarls, and his hands have claws and then he's lunging forwards. Scott leans backwards to avoid the claws, ducks under the other hand as it comes down in a swipe and grabs onto it. He kicks out at Stiles' feet but Stiles can fight now, with wolf reflexes. He jumps over the feet and overbalances Scott with a twist. Scott finds himself pinned to the ground. His hands are by his side and he reaches up, only for Stiles to grab his neck and slam him back down. His breath whooshes out of him as his back hits the concrete hard. He goes boneless as Stiles straddles him, feet pressing down over his wrists. One hand wraps around his neck and the other leans on his chest as he leans forwards, eyes dark as he pins down the alpha.

"I thought you'd be harder," Stiles frowns, staring over him without recognition, "The great McCall, _True Alpha_ ," he spits the words, then shrugs, uncaring, "Oh well."

"Stiles, please," Scott gasps out, as Stiles shifts, and his hand tightens around Scott's throat, claws digging in. His other hand curls in over Scott's heart.

Scott could throw him off, should probably, but this is _Stiles_.

"You really think begging is going to stop me ripping out your heart?" Stiles asks, almost mocking him. It's like the nogitsune, the calm way his friend looks at him without recognition, but it's worse, because this is Stiles. This is all Stiles.

"This isn't you," Scott chokes, air running out as the hands tighten.

"And how?" Stiles' eyes flare electric blue, "Would you know?" and then his one hand twists, claws sliding across Scott's throat. Blood rushes out, and it's healing quickly but Stiles' other hand is digging in, digging in, claws reaching past ribs and twisting upwards…

"Scott!"

Above him Stiles snarls in frustration. Claws twist in Scott's abdomen, and then are yanked out so fast it leaves Scott's head spinning. Stiles' weight shifts and Scott moves, pulling his arms up and reaching upwards. In one roll, he's over and now he's on top of Stiles, pinning his friend down.

But he forgets that Stiles is a werewolf now. The blue-eyed wolf bucks and twists, fangs snapping and hands trapped beneath where Scott holds them down. His legs kick out and one knee connects solidly with Scott's ruined chest.

He lets out a gasp and Stiles kicks again, and this time Scott lets go, shoving himself backwards and up until he’s standing.

"Scott!" Malia and Kira skid into view and then freeze as Stiles scrambles to his feet, snarling. "Oh my god," Kira gasps.

"Stiles?" Malia whispers, but the other wolf isn't listening. His eyes flash between them, and he's looking for weaknesses, Scott realises. He's still going to attack, even outnumbered and out powered.

"Look out!" Lydia shouts from somewhere, and Stiles is already moving backwards, even though the call wasn't for him. Scott hears the creaking seconds later, and wonders at how good Stiles' hearing is as the shelf next to him begins to slide over.

Scott stumbles backwards with Kira, and as the shelf topples over, he loses sight of Stiles.

"No," Malia leaps over the fallen shelf and skids around, "Stiles! Stiles!" she scents the air, "He's gone. He's quick… come on, we may still be able to catch him…"

"No," Scott is tired suddenly, and the claw marks from Stiles on his throat and chest are healing slower than they should be, "No, not yet. Malia he's… it's him."

"I know!" she says, excitedly, "He's back! Your bite worked and now he's back!"

"Who's back?" Lydia steps over the shelf daintily from where she had shoved it over.

"Stiles!" Malia exclaims, "He's back! He was here, right here and… why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Because," Scott swallows down a lump in his throat, "Stiles is the feral. He… he tried to kill me."

Their gazes are blank. He hates that he has to put it into words.

"He doesn't remember us. Any of us."


	3. It’s Just About to Break

"What do we do?"

Derek asks the million dollar question. They stand gathered around the table at Deaton's. They'd be at the loft, but this place is at least lined with mountain ash. As is Scott's house and that explains why Scott needed to be lured out. No pack and no magical defences to protect him.

"Don't be stupid," Lydia scolds him; "We can't run in half-blind again." she's looking at Scott when she says this.

He ducks his head, breath whistling out as he sighs, "This is Stiles," he says, looking back up with conviction, "He's in there somewhere, he won't kill me."

Peter steps forwards from where he's been lurking in the shadows, "Don't any of you understand the meaning of torture? He doesn't even know his own name! They broke his mind apart, and let's be honest here, his mind wasn’t particularly stable after the nogitsune to start with."

Lydia's pressing her lips together, "Can somebody kill him again please?" she asks, and Scott remembers Stiles asking that very thing, years ago.

"He's my beta," Scott says, glancing sideways to where Liam is, "My pack. It was my bite that turned him. That means I'm still his alpha."

Derek huffs, "If he still recognises you as alpha."

Deaton nods in agreement from where he has listened in silence until now, "Derek's right. His contact with you has been limited. He doesn't remember you, there is no reason the wolf side would remember his alpha. Also he's killed wolves before." he looks around at everyone, "Whole packs, alphas included."

"Then why isn't _he_ an alpha?" Scott asks, leaning forwards.

"He's got no pack?" Kira offers with a shrug.

Scott shakes his head, "I had no pack until I bit Liam."

"Not a wolf pack at least," Derek is frowning, "You had Stiles and Allison and Isaac, even if he wasn't _your_ beta… But Stiles… he's already part of a pack. This pack."

Liam chews on his lip, "But he doesn't remember us. He's more likely to rip out our throats than talk, and from the sounds of it, he's pretty good at that already."

"We are _not_ killing him," Lydia slams one hand down on the table.

Liam flinches back, "I didn't suggest that."

"I know," she says, and then looks towards Peter and Derek, "But you two are thinking it."

"I just don't see another way," Derek spreads out his arms, "He's feral. An animal."

Scott shakes his head, "He spoke to me. He seemed pretty human to me."

Malia had been silent until now, "No, I see what Derek means. Stiles is like when I was first human again. He can act a human, remember his words and how things work, but he doesn't understand humans. He's thinking like a wolf. Separating his prey, closing in on it. Going for the throat…" she gestures at Scott's newly healed throat, "He's not thinking like a human, he's thinking like a predator. Like a hunter."

"Hunting us," Liam repeats.

"Then," Scott says, and he drops the metal on the table from where he's been holding it for a while now, "We'll just have to hunt him back."

The emitter on the table rolls in a circle before coming to a halt in front of Lydia, who looks up with determination. "Let's go catch ourselves a Stiles."

 

It's easier said than done.

For one, Stiles doesn't seem to want to be found. They have no idea where to start.

Scott takes to stalking out Stiles' old house. They haven't told the Sheriff anything yet, because the man has been through enough as it is. The place also has wolfsbane growing outside, and the Sheriff doesn't blame Scott for his son's supposed death, but he doesn't exactly want to see him, a walking reminder of what he's lost.

Scott's going to make it better though. He'll find Stiles and make it right.

Stiles is hard to find though. Kira and Derek find a motel rented out with Stiles' new wolf scent there, but the trail is cold there. Liam catches sight of a car following him home from school one day, but by the time he's realised, the car is gone.

And in the end it's a total accident that they find him. Scott and Lydia have stopped by the graveyard, to lay flowers on Allison's grave. Scott has another bundle, that isn't for Allison, but Erica and Boyd and Aiden don't have graves, so he puts it down there anyway.

"I'm going to find him," he promises her, "And we'll protect him. I'll protect him. Like I should have done from the start. Because he's my best friend. He's my brother." he whispers, "I almost lost him once, I can't lose him again."

He bows his head, and that's when Lydia reaches out and shakes his shoulder. "Scott." she whispers, "He's here."

Scott turns slowly, and in the distance he can see a lanky figure stooped over slightly, and staring at something. Almost as if feeling Scott's gaze though his head snaps up and meets his gaze calmly, before straightening and backing away.

"Oh no," Scott begins running, and Stiles actually grins before spinning around and sprinting straight for the forest. He takes off after without a seconds thought.

"Scott!" Lydia calls, but he ignores her, "Scott!" she calls again, running after but stopping, because she’s got no hope of keeping up with his werewolf speed. Not in heels.

He takes off and Lydia is left, giving up running after Scott and instead pausing next to where Stiles had stood.

She looks down, but she already knows what she's going to see.

The grave of Claudia Stilinski glares back at her, and the flowers there are wilted and old. Lydia's breath catches and she fumbles for her phone, and in her ears someone screams.

It takes her a few more seconds to realise it's her.

 

Blood pounds in his ears as his feet hit the ground. He flies across the forest, but his mind is only focussed on his prey.

While he knows already that Stiles, even as a wolf, isn't stronger than him, he's certainly faster. Slowly, bit by bit, Scott knows he's losing ground.

He changes direction, because they've planned for this. He tacks down to the south, and in the distance he can hear engines die and voices.

Derek and Liam. One of them starts north towards his old house while the beta runs out to join Scott. The alpha catches sight of Liam sprinting through the trees, a silver emitter flaring out a wave of sound from his hand.

"Kira's running west!" Liam calls out, "Lydia called. She says he's remembering. We stand a chance!" he tosses another emitter to Scott and with a nod the alpha catches it and takes off towards where he last scented Stiles.

Half-way there he activates the emitter and sticks it in a tree. He slows down, glancing around. The forest echoes with the call, and there is nowhere else to go. Stiles has to be north of here, but south of the Hale house.

His phone rings.

"I don't see him," Derek growls out, "I've met up with Malia and she can't get a scent either. Anything your end?"

"No I--" Scott freezes, catching sight of something between the trees, "I'll get back to you," he says.

"Scott! Don't hang up! Scott!" He ignores Derek and cuts the call, and begins jogging through the trees. There is definitely something there, and he slows down, approaching cautiously.

It's not a person. It's a piece of paper tacked to the tree and in large, bold print letters someone has typed out 'behind you'.

Scott's stomach lurches, in the sudden realisation that this is not their trap. They are not the hunters. They're being played.

He spins around just as claws slide out across his ankles. He lets out a cry of pain and goes down, throwing himself into a roll and avoiding the second set of claws.

His smell is sharper than when Scott last scented him, and it takes him a moment to realise that Stiles smells of blood.

Fresh blood.

And it's Stiles’ own blood, probably from wounds that are newly healed already.

It makes Scott feel sick.

Scott spits out leaves and scrambles upright, meeting Stiles' gaze as the other wolf calmly lopes down the hill towards him. Scott's backed in, the river to one side, and the land dropping away into a cliff to the other side. Stiles grins at him, and his smirk is all broken shards.

"Nice little trap," he says, and he's got a knife or something in his hands, and in easy movements that Scott isn't used to seeing on Stiles, his hand is up and the silver metal is flying through the air.

Scott flinches, and he catches the metal, the point dangerously near to his head. It's not a knife, he realises; it is a silver emitter, still sparking slightly from where clawed hands had pulled it out of the tree.

His gaze refocuses from the emitter to Stiles, who doesn't appear content to watch and wait for anything.

Nothing changes then, Scott thinks stupidly as he ducks under claws. He steps backwards, "Stiles! Stop!" he calls out, "Please, Stiles!"

Stiles pauses and for a moment Scott thinks he's got through to him, but it's only for Stiles to ask, "Why do you keep calling me that?" and then swiping across to where Scott's neck would be had he not sidestepped.

"It's your name!" he yells out, "Stiles, please! It's me! Scott! I'm your friend! Your brother." he catches Stiles by the wrist and for a moment he sees brown eyes flare blue and then back to brown.

Then Stiles twists until he's gripping Scott's wrist and he bends the arm, keeps bending until Scott hears the snap, but barely feels it as the bone breaks. "Well obviously that's a lie; otherwise I wouldn't be here." he snarls, "Would I?"

"You can hear it…" Scott chokes, as they grapple, "Listen to my heartbeat…"

"Oh I will," Stiles promises, "When I rip it out of your chest."

There's no reasoning, Scott realises numbly, and he's going to die. He snarls, eyes flaring red, because this is _his_ beta.

And for half a second Stiles hesitates under the alpha’s call. One single hesitation. Half a second.

It's enough. Scott rips his broken arm free of Stiles, feeling it snap into place and heal almost instantly. He then uses it to reach out, claws scoring across Stiles' chest and stomach, deeper than he would have liked. Stiles chokes and Scott uses his other hand where it's still holding Stiles' wrist to twist the other wolf until Stiles' back is to his chest, and then his other hand comes up, claws scratching over skin to rest at the beta's throat.

Stiles snarls, but Scott's got his arm twisted right around. The bone creaks, and for a moment Scott wonders if Stiles is desperate enough to break his own arm to get loose, but then the blue-eyed wolf freezes with a whine. He's breathing heavily, and Scott can feel his pulse beating under his claws. It would be so easy to end it now, to rip the claws into the pulsing jugular.

"Well?" Stiles has his throat bared in submission but his body is still tense, full of anger and if Scott relaxes for one moment he'll be on Scott like - excuse the pun - a rabid wolf. Stiles still has one arm free, but he's using it to try and stop the bleeding from where Scott clawed open his stomach. "Come on then," the blue-eyed wolf challenges, "What are you waiting for?"

"What?" Scott doesn't understand. They're standing there, and behind them the outlook drops off towards the town. The river runs nearby, and there is a distant roar of a waterfall, as it vanishes over the edge. "What do you mean?"

"Kill me then," Stiles spits, and his body relaxes slightly against Scott, "Just get it over with."

"No," Scott shakes his head, feeling panic well up, "I'm not going to… Stiles I'm not going to kill you. I could _never_ kill you!"

"Kill me," Stiles gasps out again, "Come on! DO IT! KILL ME!"

"No," Scott refuses. "You don't have to do what they say anymore!"

"Please," Stiles growls "Trust me it will be better than what they have planned if you send me back to them without your head." and he's desperate, Scott realises. He's desperate and he wants nothing more than for Scott to rip his throat out.

"I can't," he chokes out, and there are tears in his eyes. "I can't, I won't… Stiles…"

There are footsteps that interrupt them, and thank god, because hopefully Lydia or Kira have the tranquilisers Deaton gave them, and then Scott can stop trying to keep a werewolf pinned and obedient.

Scott relaxes slightly as he sees Derek and Malia crest the hill, Kira behind them, and he really shouldn't have, because as his muscles loosen, Stiles shifts.

He kicks out and Scott stumbles back, automatically tightening his grip on the other wolf. Stiles tries to struggle free from the chokehold Scott has around him, but Scott's an alpha.

Scott's also standing right in front of a cliff.

"Scott!" Derek sees it first, and Stiles realises it shortly after, because his one hand sinks claws into Scott's arm in panic.

But it's too late. Scott's lost his balance, and if he's going to fall, he's going to take Stiles with him. His stupid friend wants to die then he'll just have to take Scott with him.

Derek is lunging but he's too late. By the time he's reaching them, Scott and Stiles have already slipped backwards, falling over the edge.

They go over together.


	4. It’s More Than I Can Take

Scott wakes up to his body heaving up water. He turns over, puking it up. It feels like his lungs are full of the stuff, and he doesn't stop until he can suck in clean air without choking.

For a moment he stays there, leaning over and hands splayed on the ground. He's soaking wet and -why is he wet?

He remembers running through the forest. He remembers falling, and he remembers the water he landed in. He remembers fighting his way to the surface, trying to keep Stiles' sodden jacket in his hands. He remembers Stiles' snarl as they lost balance and fell and--

Scott lurches upright. They've been washed downstream, and he has no idea how far. The forest smells unfamiliar, and they probably would have been carried further, except the river bends around, and there is a large rocky plateau it buffets on its path around. It's smooth by the passing river, and there are rocks scattered around like a beach.

For a moment he panics, worried that he's lost Stiles. That Stiles just continued on downstream. Then he sees a dark, sodden heap.

He's over there in an instant, leaning over and rolling Stiles over. "Stiles?" Scott shakes his friend's shoulder. "Stiles! Wake up! Stiles!"

His friend lurches, eyes slamming open and flaring blue. It's the only warning Scott gets. He lurches back just in time as claws slice out, ripping through the air where he had been.

"Woah!" he shoves himself up and back, "Easy."

His friend snarls, but is cut off with a choke as he begins to cough up water. "What the hell?" he growls, leaning over and retching weakly. "What are you still doing here?"

"Helping you," Scott cautiously leans forwards, "Are you okay?"

Stiles frowns at him, curling his lip in distaste as he shoves himself up on shaky arms, ignoring Scott. "You should be running the other way, Alpha," he sneers, "Because at the end of the day I'm still going to kill you…" he is barely standing that he shakes, uneasily, body rocking and Scott catches him before he can fall, one arm wrapping around Stiles' shoulders.

"Sure, sure," Scott soothes his friend, "You kill me when you're not close to collapsing."

"Get off me," Stiles lashes out, weakly shoving Scott away. He winces at the movement, and his one hand is pressed to his stomach where Scott had clawed him. There are also faint red lines across his throat and it makes him look vulnerable. Scott is vividly reminded that wounds from an alpha won't heal as fast. Stiles isn't going anywhere quickly.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks.

Stiles glares at him, shoulders shifting to hide any discomfort as he scoffs. "God, no wonder your pack are so soft, Alpha, with you as their leader."

Scott steps back, but keeps a hand on Stiles' back to steady him, "Stop calling me 'Alpha'," he says, sadly.

"Stop calling me _'Stiles'_ ," Stiles glares at him, running a hand through his wet hair, flicking water away with a disgusted look.

Scott snorts, "What else am I meant to call you? What did the hunters call you?"

Stiles' eyes are their usual amber as he lurches awkwardly away from Scott's hand, having none of the usual grace he seemed to possess earlier. Scott winces as he sees the red stain on Stiles' shirt. It was from Scott’s claws, he knows that much. "I don't have a name," Stiles turns away, voice sounding as dead as he looks.

Scott's words choke in his throat, "Nothing?" he steps after Stiles, shoes squelching.

Stiles stops, letting Scott slip into place in front of him, "Unless you want to call me 'boy' or 'mutt'," his tone is icy. "Now move aside, Alpha."

"Where are you going?" Scott challenges, "Back to them? Those monsters who don't even give you a name?"

Stiles' expression is forlorn, "Where else am I meant to go?" he asks, dazed.

"Come back with me," Scott begs, "Join my pack and we'll sort out the hunters. We're your friends - I know you don't remember but we know you. You have friends, a pack, family…" he grabs onto Stiles hand, trying to ground his best friend into staying.

"Well if you guys are meant to be such good friends," Stiles yanks his hand out of Scott's grip, "Then why didn't you come for me. I used to scream for someone to help me. But if there was anyone out there who cared, they never came." he pushes forwards, and Scott lets him go, numbly with a sick pit in his stomach.

 

"Why are you still following me?"

"I'm not following you. We just happen to be going the same direction."

The blue-eyed beta makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?" Scott asks, curious despite himself.

"You really think I'm fit to kill you in this condition?" Stiles asks, voice empty. One hand gestures at himself as he limps along. Scott really wants to stop him to look at his wound, but Stiles snarls every time he goes within five feet of him.

"Not really, no." Scott shrugs, "It's getting dark." he comments, idly.

"I noticed," Stiles responds dryly.

"We should stop moving." Scott says, "Sleep for a bit."

Stiles stops, glancing over his shoulder to glare at Scott, "Since when did this become 'we'?" he asks.

"Since we're still going in the same direction." Scott shrugs. He's learned from the best in being annoying and persistent, even in the best no longer remembers. He stops and looks around. "Here's as good as any place. You want to try and look for roots and… uh… berries to eat?"

"What sort of wolf are you?" Stiles' scorn is something Scott is not familiar with, "Stay here, Alpha," he snaps. The name too makes a shiver of sadness run up Scott's spine.

He is prepared to protest, he doesn't want to lose Stiles again. Not now. But Stiles has spun around and broken into a sprint. It's a weak thing, and Stiles is leaning heavily on his one side, but he can still run, and he does, vanishing between trees. He's quick, almost as fast as Kira and definitely faster than Scott. He'd probably outrun Scott if not for the wound.

He is a brilliant werewolf, Scott thinks, grabbing some dry pieces of wood and debating how easy it would be to start a fire. He could probably spark something with his claws…

He manages to get some dry grass to actually catch alight much to his delight. His claws were as good as flint for providing a spark, and he knelt over it, feeding the flame dry leaves and grass as he began to build it up. He and Stiles used to make campfires like this in their back gardens.

The smell of blood and Stiles makes him look up. Stiles' eyes are a brilliant electric blue and he's still partially shifted. There is blood around his mouth.

"Stiles!" Scott lurches to his feet, "Are you okay?"

Stiles stops, alarmed at the sight of Scott. "Stop calling me that," he snaps, tossing something onto the ground.

Scott ignores the complaint, "Is that… rabbit?" he stares at the brown forms, "Did you catch a rabbit?"

"You wanted food," Stiles shrugs.

"Did you hunt that?"

"We're wolves," Stiles is staring at him with confusion, "Don't you hunt?"

"No, not like this…"

His best friend is looking at him with something close to disgust and fascination. His claws retract and eyes settle back to their whiskey brown as he licks what might be dried blood of his finger. Scott tries not to look too closely, instead focussing on his small fire.

It comes out of the blue when Stiles asks, "Why do you like to pretend?"

"Pretend what?"

"Pretend to be human."

"We are human."

"We're not. You and I, we're werewolves, Alpha. We're animals."

"The only animals I see are the ones who did this to you."

Stiles doesn't say anything else for a long while.

 

Scott is woken in the night, and for a moment, he has no idea what woke him. The fire is still burning, and the air is cool and fresh.

Then there is a whimper and he turns his head to the other side of the fire, where Stiles is curled up in as small a ball as he can make himself. His hands clutch his knees to his chest and he looks so, so young.

"Stiles?" Scott asks, quietly, breaking the silence.

Stiles doesn't react. His body is shaking, Scott sees as he uncurls and stands slowly. He makes his way around the fire, and that's about when he realises Stiles is still asleep.

Another whimper escapes his mouth, and he flinches. Scott hears words this time, tiny pleads. A litany of "No, no, no…" jumbled into one word.

"Stiles," Scott reaches out, and Stiles flinches away from the touch as if it burns. He curls up, trying to make himself smaller. Trying to make himself a smaller target, less of a threat. Scott tries again, hand on Stiles' shoulder.

This time Stiles lashes out. His hands are human nails, but they still score a line across Scott's cheek before he can stop the thrashing. Stiles kicks out, shaking and still in the midst of whatever nightmare he's trapped in. Scott makes a shushing noise in his throat, holding onto Stiles' wrists. Stiles' body is freezing, for a wolf, and Scott unconsciously finds himself pressing his body to Stiles', dropping Stiles' hands in favour of wrapping his arms around the other wolf.

With a soft sigh Stiles goes boneless, relaxing into Scott's grip. He stirs, and mumbles something. The other wolf shifts and then relaxes, curled up against Scott's chest. His breathing evens out, little hitches vanishing as he sinks into sleep.

And Scott is content, because he's got Stiles, he's got his pack, his beta, his friend, his brother, and he lays his head down, eyes closing.

 

They wake, still curled up together. Scott's not sure who woke up first, but Stiles leans away from him eventually, eyes wide and confused as he attempts to extract himself from Scott's arms. Embarrassed, Scott lets him go and Stiles pushes himself away quickly. The blue-eyed beta doesn't appear to know what to say though, and so he just pauses, poking at the dying embers of the fire with a stick.

"Shouldn't your pack be looking for you by now?" he asks, looking around. His hair is ruffled and sleep spiked.

Scott shrugs, "We got washed pretty far downriver. They have no idea where to start, but we'll probably meet them today. We're getting closer."

He can feel it. He's always been able to tell where Beacon Hills is now, ever since the sacrifice with the Nemeton. He wonders if Stiles can feel it too, as they stand and slowly begin to start heading upriver again.

"What's your plan now?" Scott asks, "Are you going to tell them you killed me?"

"I'll tell them I lost you after we went over the waterfall."

"So you're going to lie?" Scott's asks, hope creeping into his voice.

Stiles stops and turns around to him. His face is full of confusion, "What do you want me to say?" he asks.

"I want you to not have to go back to them in the first place," Scott says, and he reaches out, grabbing one of Stiles' hands, "Stay with my pack. You're my beta already, and you know it."

Stiles yanks his hand back. He hates the touch, Scott realises, but it doesn’t deter him from trying to reach out to his friend. "You bit me." Stiles accuses.

Scott pauses, and then nods slowly, "You were dying," he says, "You'd just - stupidly - thrown your idiotic ass in front of a bullet for me. The bullet went right through and then I bit you to save your life."

The other wolf's eyes flash blue, "Then how?" Stiles snarls, "Did I end up with them? What sort of pack are you that you leave people behind?"

Scott swallows, "Your heart stopped. We thought you were dead, and there were more hunters. We were outnumbered and so we left you. When I came back there was nothing… we… we thought you were dead."

His friend casts him such hate filled gaze that for a moment Scott wonders whether he's ever going to get Stiles back, "Maybe it would have been better if I was dead," he snaps, before spinning around and continuing to walk.

 

They make it several miles upstream. Scott finds some non-toxic berries to eat, and though Stiles casts him a disgusted look, he does eat them. The ground is just beginning to slope upwards when Scott stops, head raised to scent the air.

"I can smell my pack!" Scott breathes. He and Stiles are downwind, and so it may be a while yet until they reach where the others are working their way downstream, but that's definitely Liam and Malia he can scent. "We're nearly there."

Stiles has no reaction, just keeps up a steady pace behind him.

"It's going to be okay!" Scott promises, pausing to turn to Stiles, "You'll see, okay? We have contacts. They can call the hunters off. Get them arrested. We'll stop them hurting you ever--"

The words aren't even out of his mouth than he hears the roar of a car engine.

"Too late," Stiles' grin is bitter, "They've found us too." and he just stops, not even trying to run, just waiting for the inevitable. It makes Scott wonder how many times he did try to run, and how many times he got dragged back because of it. It makes the alpha feel sick to the bone at what Stiles must have gone through with the hunters.

What he's going to go through again, because Stiles is right. He hears footsteps through the trees and it's not his pack.

Stiles turns towards him suddenly, and his eyes are wide. "Go," Stiles says, voice low. "Go now," he says, and glares at Scott. "Before they see you."

They've already seen him though, Scott realises. And even if they haven't, he's not leaving Stiles. "No," he shakes his head, "Not without you."

"They'll kill you," Stiles snarls.

"You were going to kill me," Scott shrugs, "And look where we are now!"

Stiles bares his fangs, and his eyes flash blue. He reaches out, shoving against Scott's chest. The alpha lets himself be pushed back a few steps, and then stops.

"Run, you idiot!" Stiles growls, " _Run_ , Alpha!"

"No," Scott doesn't budge, "Stiles, you're my brother. And if this is where you're going then…" he steps back towards Stiles, "You're taking me with you."

And Stiles' eyes widen, and his nostrils flare almost as if he can smell the kerosene again.

There is the sound of engines pulling up and cutting off, and still Scott doesn't move. Stiles shakes his head, looking so lost and confused Scott wants to hug him again. "No," Stiles whispers, "No, no, what are you doing to me?" he asks, desperately. He takes an angry step forwards, but then another voice rings out.

A female hunter steps out, and Stiles freezes in place. "Well, look what you've brought us, all nicely gift wrapped and all!" she chirps, "Not bad, wolf."

Stiles' eyes drop down and he won't look at Scott's eyes anymore.

"It will be okay," Scott promises, "Stiles, it's going to be okay."

"They all say that, honey," the female hunter smirks, "Now are you going to come with us nice and easy, or are we going to have to get messy?"

"We'll come with you," Scott says, hands up in the air in the surrender position, "Easy way and all."

She grins, "I love it when they choose the easy way," she says, and motions to other hunters that have crept around behind them. Scott turns, and he's aware of sleek metal cattle prods and then suddenly every limb is on fire and he's on the ground, body shaking with electricity. He sees Stiles fall to his knees, eyes closed in resignation before something crashes into his skull and everything goes dark.


	5. Without a Sign (Without a Warning)

His bones and muscles all ache.

"Sucks, huh?"

Stiles' dry voice is what startles him into fully opening his eyes. Stiles is right. However much electricity they tasered him with, it definitely sucked. "Did they hit you too?" he groans.

"Yeah," Stiles is sitting opposite him, leaning against a wire mesh. "I'm just more used to it than you are."

Scott struggles upright, hands snagging on cold metal. He tugs himself up and freezes.

Stiles isn't leaning on wire mesh. Stiles is leaning on one of the walls of their prison.

They're in a cage. It's large, and it looks like it's meant for bears or something, but it's still a cage. And judging by how Stiles' face is calm, observing Scott through dead, half-lidded eyes, he's all to used to this kind of treatment.

"Want me to kill you now?" Stiles asks, and his voice is as dead as his eyes look. "Because I will, if you ask me to. I think they're kind of hoping I will, but if not then they're going to drag you outside and poison you full of wolfsbane. Then you'll howl, and your pack will hear, and then once they get here, they'll lock all the doors and exits, and then throw in some more burning wolfsbane.”

Stiles sounds like he's talking from experience.

But there's only one thing Scott hears in that, "My pack?" he asks, staring at Stiles, "Dude… it's your pack too you know?"

And Stiles' eyes open fully, looking tender and vulnerable. "How do I know you?" he whispers, "I feel like I know you."

"I--" there is a creak of a door and Scott falls silent. Stiles tenses, but it's in another part of the building. The hunter's voices drift over to them, and Stiles was right about their plan, right down to the last crossed t and dotted i.

Scott turns to look at Stiles, and this time his friend has a new look in his eye. It's half-mad, and it screams danger as Stiles stands, as best he can in the cage. He pauses to check nobody is coming and then moves over to one side of the cage and reaches out towards a control panel. "It's electronic," he whispers to Scott, "The deadbolt. And they use a key, but I figured our claws…"

Scott forces himself up, "Let me," he pushes Stiles gently aside. He doesn't try reaching. Stiles is taller than him as it is, Scott's not willing to bet his arms are longer than Stiles'. Instead he sets his hands between the bars of the cage and with a muted growl, he bends the metal outwards. "Try now." he suggests.

Stiles' jaws have dropped open, "Holy--" he whistles, "Why didn't you snap my neck when you had the chance, Alpha?" he asks, reaching now, and now he can get his shoulder through his claws can slip under the plastic and open up the control panel with ease.

"Because you're my best friend, whether you remember it or not."

And Stiles' face is taunt and Scott can't tell if that's from bottled up emotion or concentration as he twists his claw in the key slot.

With a whine the deadbolt slides open. Stiles grins triumphantly, leaning back in and Scott eases the cage door open. "Let's get you out of here," he whispers.

"And you," Scott reminds him, but there's something on Stiles' face that seems to say he's not going anywhere. Scott chooses to ignore it for now.

Stiles pauses for a moment once outside the cage to orientate himself, "This way," he says eventually, choosing the second of two doors, and one that appears to lead out of a back way through a garage. They open the one door - unlocked - and end up in a corridor. There's a door at the end, and several leading off it, but Stiles makes for the one at the end.

They're not quite there when the door they are heading to opens and someone steps through. It's a man, and he takes two steps before freezing, staring at Stiles and Scott behind him.

"You!" he shouts, and he's reaching for his gun when Stiles bounds forwards, mouth twisting into a snarl and in two swift movements his hands are at the man's neck and with a click, the man's still suddenly, neck snapped.

Stiles is breathing heavily as he drops the body. He's shaking, Scott realises, as he makes his way forwards. "It's okay," he rests a hand on his best friend's shoulders, "Stiles…"

Stiles shrugs off his hands, and turns to look at Scott with disbelief, "Do you think I'm panicking?" he asks, with a frown. "Over _killing_ him?"

"You're… not?"

Stiles bares his teeth, "I'll rip them all apart if I have to." His eyes flash electric blue and he whirls away, slipping through the open door. Scott hurries after, and he probably should have been quicker because there is another hunter there, looking at weapons. Stiles is on him like a shot, eyes flashing blue and blood sprays across the wall as his claws rip through arteries.

Stiles sniffs at the hunter drops, rubbing at some blood on his finger with distaste, "Come on…" he says to Scott, turning towards him, “This way.”

Scott follows. From the room with the weapons, there's another room that must be some sort of garage. There is only one car parked in there though, and it could fit at least four cars. There are large heavy duty doors, and one of them is slid up. Scott spots daylight and relaxes slightly, stepping towards it, "Almost there." he breathes.

He really needs to learn to watch what he says; because he's barely taken a step forwards then there is a shadow that steps into the light, a gun clearly visible.

It's the female hunter from earlier. She grins. "Almost, but not quite. Are you going to finish him off, mutt, or am I?"

Stiles has frozen next to Scott. There is still hunter blood on his hands and he's standing by Scott. The alpha lets his eyes flash red, "I'll kill you," he snarls, "For what you did to him! I'll kill you!"

"If he doesn't kill you first," she croons.

"No."

She pauses, smiles fading slightly, "What?" she asks.

Stiles glares at her, "No. I'm not killing him."

She curls her lips. "So the mutt sides with his own kind. Defiance isn't a pretty look on you, dog. I thought we'd beaten it out of you months ago." and she makes a signal with her hands.

There are footsteps behind them, and Scott whirls around, just in time to punch a hunter in the head. Stiles knocks another aside and then sinks his claws into a third.

"Well if you won't do it," the female hunter steps forwards, gun out. Scott spots the sharp gun-metal grey in the dimness of the garage, "Then I'll do it. I wonder. If I kill your alpha, then which one of you mutts will inherit it?"

Scott's frozen, because there's no more warning than that and she's pulling the trigger. He's still waiting for the sharp spike of pain, for the burning of the wolfsbane.

"No," something barrels across Scott's vision and rolls to the side, curled over a blossoming red and black stain on his chest.

Scott gapes, and then ducks as the gun shoots out again, moving towards Stiles. "Stiles! Stiles!" he calls out, leaning over the still form of his best friend. Eyes flutter open, flaring blue with pain and his smile curls into a slight smile, "Go," he coughs out, "Run, Alpha."

"No, not without you…"

"They'll shoot you. They'll kill you." Stiles coughs out, "Not you. Never you, Scott."

Scott's breath catches, because this is the first time he's heard his own name fall from Stiles' lips. "Stiles?" he asks.

"Scott!" he looks up at the new voice, startled and staring right at the female hunter and the gun pointed at them.

"Aww," she croons, "That sounds like your pack. Just in time then?" she asks, and her finger curls over the trigger.

She never gets a chance to finish firing because her finger spasms, eyes rolling up in her head as she crumples. Behind her Kira stands, hands outstretched and electricity dancing between splayed fingers.

Scott breathes out a sigh of relief, before spotting movement out of the corner of his eye.

The other hunter - the one Stiles had knocked aside earlier and then left in favour of throwing himself in front of a bullet - and god, Stiles, really? - is standing. He moves towards Kira, a large knife in one hand and with a snarl Scott pounces, claws outstretched. These are the people who hurt Stiles. His friend. His pack.

The man's screaming beneath him, blood under his claws and blade dropped. Scott doesn't care; he just wants the man to suffer.

"Scott! No, don't!" Malia skids into the garage just in time to yank him backwards, "Not like this!"

The man whimpers, and Scott's limps go limp as he allows Malia to tug him backwards.

"You're not a killer," the coyote whispers, "Don't turn into one. Ever."

Scott shakes his head to clear the blood lust, letting his shift fall. "Is…?" he swallows, tasting blood in his mouth.

"We're here now," Malia reassures him, "We're all here. It's okay. Where's Stiles?"

"Stiles?" Scott's up on his feet in seconds, turning to where seconds ago Stiles had been dying: a wolfsbane bullet in his chest. "He was here," he stumbles over to the spot he can still see black blood, "He was right here."

There is a cartridge missing from the unconscious woman's gun and no Stiles. "I'll go look," Malia vanishes after his scent and Scott follows.

"He's injured. He threw himself in front of a bullet. It was meant for me." he repeats, shocked, "He saved me."

"Guess nothing much changes then," Malia drawls, but he catches sight of her expression, worry and pain etched on her features, "I can't smell him," she casts her nose around.

Scott takes a deep breath, "He… he can't have gone far." He scans the ground but there aren't even drips of black blood. "No," he growls, "We can't… I can't lose him. Not now. Not when we were so close to getting him back."

Malia begins running in a random direction, stops, sniffs the air and runs back. She repeats that, each time looking more and more desperate. "Nothing. There's nothing… where could he have gone… STILES!" she calls out, "Stiles!"

"He's a wounded animal," Kira steps up behind them, "Scott, you said he was shot. You know what wounded animals do when they're about to die. They crawl away somewhere quiet."

"He's not going to die!" Scott rounds on her snarling. She flinches. "I'm sorry," he ducks his head, "But he's not going to die. He's _not_ , okay? This is Stiles. He'll be fine. He has to be."

He looks around. It's a false promise, but he'll cling to it with all he has left.

Malia meets his gaze, trying to hold onto that hope. "He will be."

 

Derek and Liam have tied up the rest of the hunters and Chris Argent looks up gravely at them. "I'll deal with it," he promises them. "Where's Stiles?"

Lydia steps forwards, "Scott?" she asks, "Is he…?"

"They shot him," Scott breathes, "And he… he threw himself in the way."

"We can't catch a scent." Malia shakes her head, "I can't… there's nothing. He's gone."

Somehow Scott feels like he's back to where he started, with a missing, potentially dead Stiles, and a despondent pack around him.

 

It is two weeks.

Two weeks in which Malia runs around the town at least ten times, and Kira has to drag her in to eat and sleep before she runs herself ragged. Two weeks, in which Lydia goes around asking random strangers questions, plucks on strings and listens to the dial tone of a telephone, before Derek gives her a pencil and pad. He finds her later, fast asleep with exhaustion; pad still a blank, blank white.

Two weeks in which there is nothing. No Stiles.

Scott's told the Sheriff. The police are looking out, but Scott's beginning to wonder if he's actually dead for real this time.

He's never going to give up though, and he joins Malia in another run around the town and preserve.

 

Stiles knows how to stay hidden. Maybe it's something the hunters taught him, or maybe it's just his own intuition, because when he finds them, it's of his own accord.

Scott and Malia have actually finished a circuit of the warehouse district and are heading back. Scott's bike is parked outside the cemetery, and they jog back there, slowing to a halt as they reach the right street.

Scott fishes his keys from his pocket, and pauses. There's a weird sense of déjà vu as Malia looks over his shoulder and whispers, "Scott."

He turns slowly. There's a lanky figure standing in the distance in front of one of the graves. From the positioning he knows which one it is.

His throat is tight all of a sudden. "You go," Malia whispers, "I'll wait here."

Scott nods. The gate to the cemetery creaks as he opens it and slips through. Stiles doesn't look at him as he approaches, not even when he stops, right behind him.

"What sort of name is Stiles Stilinski?" the blue-eyed wolf asks though, after what may be a minute or more of silence.

"We…" Scott scratches the back of his head, "We can't pronounce your real name. You go by Stiles."

Stiles nods, still staring at his mother's grave. There are fresh flowers on there now and by the smell clinging to him, Scott knows his best friend brought them.

Scott waits for Stiles to speak. Eventually Stiles clears his throat, "So you kind of saved my life. The way I figure is I owe you."

"Dude. You saved mine. We're even."

Stiles shakes his head and turns to Scott, "That…" one hand gestures fruitlessly, "That… that wasn't living." his arm drops weakly, "You were right about that, I guess. And you… you showed me something I haven't had in a long time."

"What is that?" Scott asks.

"Hope," Stiles shrugs, "I don't… I can't pretend to know everyone," he warns, "I'm not the same person, Alpha… Scott… I don't know if I can ever be."

Scott's throat is closed. He nods silently as Stiles continues.

"But there's stuff there. There's fire and lizards and alphas and a thousand year old fox inside my head and I'm…" he swallows, "I'm willing to try. If you are… If you're willing to let me in your pack, Scott, then I'll stay. For you, for…" he gestures at the grave, "For my mom, for my dad and his… stupid eating habits…" and he's frowning, struggling to smile through it and Scott breaks into a smile.

"You're an idiot," he says gently, "What did I tell you? You're already in my pack." And he opens his arms and Stiles crashes into them, and they're both sobbing, and holding each so closely and so tightly it's like they're never going to let each other go.

They're never going to let go again.


End file.
